Echoes of Sacrifice
by Lass of the Lake
Summary: Alistair is reminded of the day he lost his love.


Alistair's head was absolutely pounding. He fought the urge to bury his head in his arms and sink down onto the desk in order to take a quick nap. Maybe that would make the blasted pounding stop. Maker's breath, the noble across from him - Fallier? Famish? - could really prattle on, couldn't he? Alistair hadn't said more than a word in probably over an hour and still he blabbered on, unaware of the King's discomfort.

"So, you see, your worship, that's why I should inherit my father's land and not my older brother, no matter what my father's will says," the noble finished. Honestly, Alistair couldn't recall a single point the other man had made - they'd all gone in one ear and out the other, completely drowned out by the pain in his head.

The king of Ferelden sighed, "I will have one of my advisers review this-"

"Oh!" the man - Fallish? - exclaimed, cutting him off abruptly, his eyes now directed directly above Alistair's head. "Is that the Hero's sword?" he asked, suddenly excited. Alistair felt the blood drain from his face at the question. "May I hold it?"

The grief that had been encroaching on the Theirin man immediately turned on itself and boiled into cold fury. His eyes narrowed, his teeth ground together and he only just kept the presence of mind about him to not flip the desk that sat between them - not that he could, but a younger, brasher version of him certainly would have given it his best go. "No," Alistair refused flatly, standing so abruptly that the chair upended behind him, startling the noble across from him. Alistair pointed one shockingly steady hand at the door, intoning in his most commanding, King-like voice, "Get out. _Now_."

The noble, whose name he could still not recall, jolted from his seat as if struck by lightning and was out the door within a few heartbeats. Whatever steadiness his anger had provided failed the moment the door closed behind the panicked noble and Alistair began to shake throughout his entire body.

He knew what he would see. It was engraved into mind's eye, like a date on a wedding ring. The king spent countless hours staring at the sword that dealt the killing blow to the dragon that fateful day, ending the fifth blight and the life of his beloved. Alistair knew every crack and crevice on the blade, the weak spot in the pommel, where the blood had leeched into deformities in the metal, like a grass stain on a shirt. He knew, and yet, he still turned and stared up at where he'd mounted it on the wall. He both couldn't bear to be near it, nor could he rid himself of the long sword Solora had drove straight through the skull of the archdemon.

Hands trembling, Alistair trailed the pads of his fingertips across the worn metal, ever so gingerly. The sword was fragile, old, worn and cracked. A fracture traveled up the spine, like a bolt of lightning against the sky. The tip was bent terribly, likely from Solora driving the blade through the skull with all the force she could muster.

_Silly,_ he thought harshly, pulling his hand back as if the long unused weapon had burned him. _Foolish__ of her._

Even five years later, Alistair still felt the unnatural presence of the sword that he displayed over his head in her honor. A _long-sword,_ Maker's breath. The blasted thing was almost half as long as Solora been tall. It had been grabbed in the heat of the moment. It wasn't _her sword_ \- not really. Solora preferred daggers, as anyone who knew her could tell you.

Memories surfaced, unbidden, and Alistair fell into them, unable to do anything else.

_Ash and smoke choked the air as they made it onto the roof. They may have grounded the creature but it crushed a soldier underneath one of it's monstrous claws and bit another clean in two. "To me!" Solora screamed. "For the Grey Wardens!" Their unit of four surged forward as one under her command, surrounding the beast, hacking and slashing at it's flanks. The fight seemed to last hours and minutes._

_It seemed to Alistair that he must have slashed at the dragon one thousand times to no avail. He was weary, his strength flagging as he struggled to breath through the smoky air, his armor and sword weighed on his body and the smoldering heat of dragon fire caused sweat to stream down his brow._

_The fight seemed lost to the Grey Warden male. He was ready to drop where he stood. He'd lost sight of Sten and though he could see the light coming off the spells Morrigan cast, he couldn't find her among the soot and calamity either. He searched for Solora, wanting to grab hold of her and pull her from the roof for surely this whole mission had been doomed from the beginning._

_An angel arced through the air, flying with the grace of Andraste herself, landing on the neck of the archdemon and driving it's blade down into her neck. It screeched and thrashed, unseating the angel, and Solora rolled onto the stone roof. But she'd done it. The archdemon was wounded. It was time to finish this._

_Like magnets, the three other members the party were drawn to surround the blonde elf as she stood, brushing herself off._

_Alistair didn't know what to say. What do you say to the woman you love before you head off to certain death? Let alone when you've broken her heart, too? Alistair wanted to hold her one last time, to kiss her and say farewell. How he wished he'd never broken her heart the night before because now it didn't matter - the would-be-king would be no more._

_As if she could read his mind, she launched herself at him and embraced him earnestly, gripping his jaw tightly and angling it down so that she could lay her lips over his in a fierce, passionate kiss. Alistair responded in equal measure, so grateful for this last moment in her arms that he forgot to be afraid of the death looming over his head._

_Solora pulled back too soon, a melancholy sort of smile gracing her lips. "I'm sorry, my love," she said, her hand still cupping his cheek. Her eyes moved over his shoulder and she gave a single nod. "Now, Sten."_

_"Wh-" Alistair didn't even have time to get the word out before both of his arms were painfully wrenched behind his back. He didn't have to look back to know that the huge Qunari man was behind him, holding him. He thrashed against his captor, attempting to free himself from his hold, but it was no use - Sten easily held him in place. Alistair's eyes found hers again and understanding dawned on him. "No!" he erupted, betrayal, anger and hurt bubbling in his chest. "You can't do this! We had a deal, Solora!"_

_A single tear slipped from her pretty hazel eyes, streaking through the dirt that covered her cheeks. "We had much, my love. All of it is broken now." With a deep shuddering gasp that seemed to wrack her whole body, she broke their gaze and turned to Morrigan. "Goodbye, my friend... my sister," she said in an unsteady, watery voice._

_Morrigan squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as if the words struck her. "Goodbye... sister."  
_

_Solora turned to Sten. "I wish you all the best, honorable and mighty warrior," she proclaimed._

_The white-haired man was as stony faced as ever as he nodded in reply. "You meet your death well."_

_"Please," Alistair begged as she began to turn from them, causing her to pause and look back at him. He'd fallen to his knees, though Sten still held him immobile. "Please, Solora... don't- don't do this."_

_"I must, vhenan," she replied._

_And then she turned and began to sprint. Alistair screamed, begging her to stop, to come back, to honor the deal they'd made. Solora did not turn back again. The elvhen woman crossed the distance between her group and the dragon in a flash, capturing the hilt a great longsword from a corpse as she did so. It looked odd and unwieldy in her small hands. Nevertheless, she ran, first slicing through the underside of the dragon's neck so that it could no longer hold up it's head. Then, with all her might, she grabbed the hilt with both hands and thrust it down, through the skull of the archdemon._

_It's screech cut off abruptly as both warden and dragon were enveloped in a golden beam of light that streamed up into the heavens. Alistair sobbed brokenly as the light cleared, leaving the broken bodies of the archdemon and Solora Mahariel in its wake. The Hero of Ferelden and her conquest._

Alistair still missed her everyday. He wondered if a day would come where he wouldn't miss her. A time when he wouldn't awaken from a deep sleep, drenched in sweat and screaming out her name. Sometimes, it didn't seem like that day would come. Solora would always be a part of him - his first, and perhaps only, love, and his truest, most wonderful friend.

For what was perhaps the millionth time, Alistair considered removing the sword from where it was mounted behind his desk. It only invited questions. It only reminded him of the throbbing, gaping hole in his heart. And for the millionth time, he left it right where it was.

Her sacrifice would continue to echo, sword or no.


End file.
